First Encounters
by enigma939
Summary: The story of Batman's first encounters with metahuman crimefighters and how he learns to cope in this brave new world. Set in the second year of Batman's career.


**First Encounters**

**A/N: **Though this is largely based on the comics, I've taken a few liberties, like incorporating some elements from Batman Begins/The Dark Knight.

Batman and all the other characters appearing in this fanfic are properties of DC Comics.

**Chapter One: Brave New World**

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence and tranquility of Gotham's East End. This was followed by cries of fear, anguish and pain, the subtle tones of physical combat, the cracking of ribs and bones, even more cries of agony, and ultimately ended with the restoration of the chilled silence, with a dark shadow looming over its…_his_…handiwork.

Gotham's East End had for decades been a land of silence. For it was under the cover of silence that men could scheme, men could plot and above all, men could thieve. The silence was furthermore symbolic of the 'human costs' that were involved in these largely clandestine ventures, a warning and a representation of the fate that would befall those who sought to invade this hostile world and 'make trouble'. It was indeed, this silence, this representative of fear and power, which had been the 'insurance' of the East End and the men who practiced their dastardly 'profession' there. Deny the corruption by acknowledging the silence, or become silent yourself, forevermore. This had been the unsaid motto of their creed since time immemorial.

But all this had changed. Forever. It had been well over a year know since the first hushed rumors uttered in the silent streets; the shrill hysterical insistence of witnesses and the sheer terror and fright evident on the faces of 'survivors'. But it had only been mere months since the rumors had been largely vindicated, since the word went out and penetrated the cold silence of the streets and the worst nightmares of many were confirmed.

The Batman.

It…_he_…was no longer a myth. No longer the creation of a fragile imagination. He was real. He was everywhere. And he was hunting them down. One by one.

The 'Roman' had put out the word. 'Kill the Bat', he'd ordered and negotiated in the only language the executioners would understand. But few among them were willing to obey his call, no matter how high the price. And those few failed. Everytime. And ultimately, the Roman himself had been captured and humiliated by the creature of the night. And that was when all hopes had been crushed out of those who lived by crushing the hopes of others. They carried on in their silent world, but with a feeling of hitherto unfelt despair and impending doom. For more frequently than ever before, the silence of these streets, of these building, of these rooftops was broken. And the answer was always the same. Everytime.

The Batman.

He stood on a rooftop surveying the scene from twenty feet above, the strong winds whipping against the fabric of his cape. The night was no longer unfamiliar and hostile to him. It was his territory. His element. It _was _him. He had become the incarnation of the night. Of darkness. Of fear.

And yet the being whom criminals, cowardly and superstitious as they were, referred to in hushed whispers as the Batman, was no monster, no supernatural being, no phantasm. He was a man. Flesh and blood. A man who could have easily been destroyed tonight as he could have been destroyed on any other night. It was why he had chosen to relinquish his humanity and instead become a symbol. Immortal. Incorruptible. Unstoppable.

The Batman.

In the distance, he could hear the sirens. The sirens that had once more penetrated the silence of these dark streets. They were like music to his ears. They made him feel exhilarated; proud of what he had achieved over the past year. Not very long ago, no cop would dare venture into the East End, unless he himself was on the payroll of the men who worked there. But now it had all changed.

He hadn't done it alone of course. He had James Gordon to thank. Gordon, an honest cop who had nearly lost all hope of restoring the glory and prestige of Gotham City; of reinstating the rule of law. Until a chance encounter with a certain masked vigilante changed the course of his career. For months they had worked together, one within the law, the other outside it. And their combined efforts had succeeded in rooting out much of the crime and corruption that plagued the city. It was thanks to James Gordon, who stood up as a very public beacon of hope for the city, and an example for its police force, that cops were no longer afraid of doing their duty. It was because of Gordon that they no longer feared venturing into the East End with hostile intentions.

And there was Harvey Dent of course. Gotham's new District Attorney. The first man in years who dared to make attempts to prosecute Gotham City's biggest crime lord, Carmine Falcone alias the 'Roman'. It was Dent who had truly re-established the rule of law in Gotham. And though he was barely acquainted with the vigilante known as Batman, he too had been inspired by the stunning example set by the Caped Crusader.

Yes, thought Batman with satisfaction as he observed the drug-dealers he had taken down being arrested by the policemen, some of them being carried on stretchers, he had accomplished a lot. But there was more work to be done.

But not tonight, the decided. It had been a long night. And while the nocturnal creature known as Batman was immortal, the man behind the mask was a mere mortal, and like all mortals, needed to rest.

* * *

Bruce Wayne usually rose late in the morning. With the aid of practice and a loud alarm clock, he had gotten into the habit of waking no later than nine o'clock in the morning. But there are times when even the efforts of the loudest alarm clocks and the strong rays of sunlight shining through the windows (the curtains were drawn open by around half past eight) fail. And as a result, the young billionaire playboy and socialite stumbled out of the master bedroom of Wayne Manor at close to half past ten.

"You've made the front page again, Master Bruce", said his loyal butler and confidant, Alfred Pennyworth, as he placed the early morning edition of the _Gotham Gazette_ in front of his employer on the breakfast table.

"So what's new, Alfred", Bruce muttered as he poured out his third cup of coffee.

"Well, I also though I'd inform you that Mr. Fox telephoned this morning asking me whether you would be present at the board meeting this afternoon at three o'clock. And he, uh, also told me to tell you that he has started work on your, ah, _car_", said Alfred.

"Tell him I'll be there for the meeting. And thank him once more from my side about the car", said Bruce. Lucius Fox had been an old friend of his father, the late Dr. Thomas Wayne, whom Bruce had recently appointed as the Chairman of Wayne Enterprise. Six months ago, Bruce had decided that Lucius was a trustworthy man and thus entrusted the skilled engineer with the secrets of the Batman in exchange for his technical expertise, which Bruce felt would be invaluable to him in his crusade. Fox's latest addition to Batman's growing 'arsenal' of equipment was to be a customized vehicle they'd jokingly referred to as the 'Batmobile'. "Anything else?" Bruce asked.

"Yes. Ms. Vale called to ask me to _gently _remind you of your evening date with her", said Alfred.

"Oh God, Alfred. I forgot again. Can't you make up some excuse?" Bruce pleaded.

"I'm running out of excuses Master Bruce. This will be the fifth cancellation I believe. Ms. Vale is very persistent and I believe any further such…evasions…could arouse her suspicion".

"Oh well, then I'll keep the date. Although most of the time, she keeps talking about the Batman. How she desperately wants to get pictures of him and so forth. Sometimes I really think I ought to set up a date between her and the Batman, and then we'll see how keen she is about that picture", Bruce said with a slight grin.

"Quite so sir", Alfred replied as he cleared away the breakfast tray.

Bruce put aside the _Gazette _and picked up the next paper, the _Daily Planet_. The headline nearly shocked him.

"This Superman fellow again, Alfred. The world seems to have gone crazy about him", Bruce said reflectively.

"Well, in two months, he certainly _has _turned the world upside down", said Alfred.

"Yes, but some of the stuff they write about him, show about him on television. Do you really think he'd got those powers? Do you think it's true that he can fly and lift airplanes and all that stuff? Or is it just some cheap parlor trick?" asked Bruce.

"Well, sir", Alfred said contemplatively. "I for one believe it's real. It may be possible to fool one of two people, or maybe a whole group, but not an entire city of millions of people. There are far too many eyewitnesses, people who claim to have spoken to the man. Every newspaper, every news network, every radio station. It's far more than a mere publicity campaign, sir"

"How do you think he does it Alfred? You think it's that suit of his? Does he have some hidden equipment stashed away in it? Or do you think its real and that he's some kind of…I don't know…a _mutant _or something", Bruce asked.

"If I may say so sir, you seem awfully concerned about this Superman. May I ask why?" asked Alfred.

"Its just that…I wonder how the Mob can be convinced to be frightened of…of a man dressed up like a bat and running around in the shadows when a guy in a dressed like a circus strongman who doesn't even wear a mask can fly and, and…shoot beams from his eyes, or whatever it is he does".

Alfred gave a short laugh, "I can assure you Master Bruce. Most criminals in this city are still scattering of frightened chickens at the mere mention of your name. They don't care about what's going on in Metropolis. They're here in Gotham where they need to contend with a certain Caped Crusader".

"Caped Crusader?" Bruce exclaimed. "That sounds quite ridiculous actually. The press will print anything these days".

"But it should please you, sir, to see that your contributions are being acknowledged in this manner by the grateful citizens of Gotham", said Alfred.

Bruce remained silent for a few moments. When he spoke again, it was in a colder, more serious voice, "I really don't care if they appreciate me or not. Perhaps, in a way its better if they fear me. If they demonize me. It'll help maintain the image I've built up in the criminal mind. All I wanted was for the people of this city to shake themselves out of their apathy. To show them the path to true justice. I provided them with a dramatic example and I think they've finally started to wake up".

"You are referring of course to the upcoming trial of Carmine Falcone", said Alfred.

"Yes", said Bruce. "With some luck and a prayer, the prosecution should pull through".

"There you are sir", Alfred said warmly. "Your contributions _have _amounted to something". The butler paused and added, "And as far as this Superman is concerned, you didn't worry yourself unduly. It's quite natural, really. The world is changing, Master Bruce. Just the other day, I read something in the papers about a man in Central City who can run faster than the speed of sound. And there are rumors of a 'warrior princess' of some kind in Washington. These people are a sign of evolution…of progress…of _change_, just as _you _symbolized change to the citizens of Gotham. They were apprehensive of you at first, but at last they accept you. And in turn, though you may at present be apprehensive about these…_people_…in time, you to will learn to accept them". Alfred started down the small hallway to the kitchen. A few seconds later, Bruce heard his voice calling out from the kitchen, "It's a brave new world, Master Bruce. And we all got to learn to accept it".

"Yes", Bruce said softly, sipping his fourth and last cup of coffee, "A brave new world".


End file.
